One Little Word
by evitamockingbird
Summary: One-shot that follows Mrs. Hughes's activities and thoughts before and during the Servants' Ball (S2 Christmas Special). She ponders the troubles Downton Abbey has seen in the past few years, particularly the ones that have affected her the most deeply, and tries not to think about that one little word that she does not allow herself to say, even in her mind.


Mrs. Hughes felt more cheerful than she had in a long while, though she was currently working feverishly to bring about a small miracle. The last few years had brought great trouble to Downton Abbey, as they had to many houses, great and small, all over England. No one in the house was immune to the effects of the War, of course, but there had been the Spanish flu as well, and then the affair of Mr. Bates's trial. Tonight's festivities were proof of what a terrible time it had been. The Servants' Ball had been cancelled due to Mr. Bates's death sentence, but since it had been commuted to life in prison, the Ball was now to go on. The family and staff were essentially celebrating a man's being sentenced to life imprisonment. But somehow Mrs. Hughes still felt like smiling.

There had been some happy events through the last few years, though. As in the case of Mr. Bates's reprieve, most of them were coupled with unhappy or anxious events, but in hard times relief is as good as happiness. She remembered when Mr. Crawley and William had gone missing at the front for several days, and how their reappearance the night of the concert had brought tears to the eyes of quite a few people in the room, including Mrs. Hughes. _If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy._ She didn't think she would ever forget that song. Everyone in the room - family, staff, soldiers - had sung with Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary as Lady Edith played. A man simply walking unexpectedly into the home of his cousins was only extraordinary when contrasted with the dark possibility they had all been contemplating: that two men dear to the household could be dead.

Mrs. Hughes hurried up the stairs to check on the maids' progress setting up the hall, carrying a large vase of flowers with her. When she arrived, she could see that all was going well. Her girls moved as fast as they could to prepare everything. She placed the flowers on one of the tables and rearranged them to her liking. All was well, at least in this small sphere. In a little while she would make her way to the attic to dress for the ball. Mr. Carson was directing Thomas and some hall boys on the other side of the room. She caught his eye and he nodded, even smiled a little, apparently satisfied that the preparations were going well. Everything would be in place shortly, and the servants would all hurriedly dress and then come down for the ball to enjoy, for once, the fruits of their own labor.

Seeing everything well under control in the hall, Mrs. Hughes hurried back downstairs to see how Mrs. Patmore and Daisy were getting on. Her maids had nearly finished everything they needed to do upstairs and Mr. Carson's presence would keep them on their toes. She was sure they would not give him any trouble, though, since they would want to be done with their chores and get dressed for the ball as soon as they could. She found that her own excitement was scarcely less than that of the young housemaids. It was only once a year that she could kick up her heels like this, and this year seemed particularly special, in a poignant sort of way. The pain of the recent past made the current pleasure seem somehow more intense, the emotions more colorful.

Even Mrs. Patmore seemed to have imbibed some of the festive spirit, in spite of all the extra work that had been required of her due to the last-minute change in plans. She didn't scold Daisy any less than usual as they placed refreshments on plates and trays to be carried upstairs, but her reproaches were spoken lightheartedly, and with a smile. The kitchen maid seemed well aware of her good fortune, and her cheerful "yes, Mrs. Patmore!" rang almost musically through the kitchen. Observing the pair for half a minute, Mrs. Hughes could see she was not needed, so she moved on. She glanced into the servants' hall as she passed by and found it deserted. Her sitting room fire had gone out and it was quite chilly, so she had no intention of staying long, but she stopped there to collect her thoughts. She felt like she must be forgetting something, though she knew that everything was in place. Due to her own careful planning, there was nothing left to worry about. The truth was that she was still occasionally disturbed by thoughts of recent tragedies. Moments ago, her eyes had swept over the piano in the servants hall and she'd smiled wistfully at memories of William, but had felt nostalgia rather than grief. However, by the time she reached her sitting room, tears were trickling down her cheeks and she felt again all of the sadness and anger that his death had caused in her heart. Sadness, naturally, because he was such a dear boy, and anger, because the whole war seemed so ridiculous and pointless to her. She thought of William often. She still missed him a great deal. Twice, when the servants' hall was deserted late at night, she had sat at that lonely piano and let her tears flow freely for a minute or two. Then she had wiped her eyes and carried on.

What she really ought to do now was go up to her bedroom and change her gown. She would be opening the ball with Lord Grantham as usual, so it would not do to be late. She wiped her eyes and shivered a bit from the chill in the room, then turned toward the door just as Mr. Carson walked in.

"Mrs. Hughes, I'm glad I found you. I've-" He stopped and looked to the empty fireplace and then back to her. "Why have you no fire burning, Mrs. Hughes? It's freezing in here. And I can see that you're shivering."

"Yes, it is quite chilly, Mr. Carson, but I've not been here more than five minutes and am about to leave."

"Are you quite all right, Mrs. Hughes?" he said, noticing that her eyes were a little red.

"I'm very well," she said, smiling to reassure him. It was the truth. Her moments of grief often passed almost as suddenly as they appeared.

"Good," he said. "I've taken the liberty of releasing your maids. All is ready, so you and I had best prepare ourselves for that opening waltz."

"Thank you. I was just on my way up to change. I don't suppose_ you_ will be making much of a transformation, though," she said, as they left her sitting room and climbed the stairs together. "A change in waistcoat and tie, and your special occasion cuff links, and I should think you quite ready to lead Lady Grantham onto the floor."

"Indeed, Mrs. Hughes, you know my routine well! It's a relief to me that I needn't worry about the details of my own appearance on top of the arrangements for the ball. The young maids enjoy it, I know, but I'm glad to be the old butler, who has been wearing the same two suits of clothing for the last 20 years at least."

Mrs. Hughes only smiled. She was no young maid, but she had to admit she looked forward to dressing for the evening's festivities. She was not a vain woman, and she would not like to take as much trouble every day over her appearance as the upstairs ladies did, but tonight she was ready to be a little girlish for once. She had even asked Anna for help arranging her hair. She and Mr. Carson separated and she went up to her room, where she changed hurriedly. Her gown was solid black, but set itself apart from her usual attire with a few minor details. Some shining black beads sewn in a pretty design embellished the neckline, and the sleeves ended at her elbows. It was nothing indecent, she thought, turning this way and that to observe the effect in her little mirror; Daisy and Mrs. Patmore showed their arms every day, and there was nothing improper in it. Still, Mrs. Hughes was accustomed to sleeves that reached her wrists, so this extra display of skin felt quite daring to her. She pulled the pins from her hair and began to brush it out in preparation for Anna's visit. She found herself inspecting her own reflection as she waited. She knew she was no great beauty, but she was not entirely displeased by what she saw. Every year brought a few new wrinkles, but she thought more of them were from smiling than from frowning. Her figure was by no means as slender as it had been in her younger years, but active employment had at least limited the effects of age on that figure. And she was not quite old, after all, only a few years past 50. A smile touched her lips. No, she was not past the age of enjoying a little frivolity.

Anna entered after tapping on the door. "Mrs. Hughes, you look lovely," she said with a smile.

"Thank you, Anna. I hope you can make me presentable."

"I'm sure I can. Your hair is very beautiful. I don't think I've seen it down before."

"My, my, you're full of compliments tonight, Anna," Mrs. Hughes said teasingly. "Are you hoping to gain my favor so you can make some request of me later?"

"I'm just saying what's true, Mrs. Hughes," Anna answered. Then, more faintly, "And my only request is one you can't grant."

"Of course," Mrs. Hughes said sympathetically. "I do hope you will be able to enjoy yourself at least a little bit this evening, though I know this is a hard time for you."

Anna nodded, swallowing her tears. "Thank you. I hope so, too." She took a deep breath. "Now tell me what you'd like me to do with your hair."

"Nothing too unusual. I want to look like myself, just a little more festive."

Anna smiled a little more as she thought over this new task. Mrs. Hughes was so different from the young ladies she dressed and styled, but no less dear to her than the Crawley sisters had become. She relished the task of giving the housekeeper her moment to shine, though on her own terms. It would be a refreshing challenge to find some way of combining "nothing too unusual" with "festive" in a way that would turn a few heads. Anna could not be certain of Mrs. Hughes's feelings on the subject, but it seemed to her that Downton Abbey's busy housekeeper might need to be reminded occasionally that she was a woman, and a pretty one at that. At any rate, Anna hoped Mrs. Hughes would turn one particular head tonight. He was the kind of man who noticed everything, especially when it came to his friends, and though Anna was never quite sure how far that friendship extended, she had no doubt that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were fast friends, in spite of their disagreements. Anna hadn't the slightest intention of playing matchmaker, but she thought she could at least help give Mrs. Hughes, who had always been so kind to her, a little something to make her evening more special.

"I think I know just the thing, Mrs. Hughes. I see you've got your pins ready. I'll have you ready in the shake of a lamb's tail."

#####

Anna was as good as her word and Mrs. Hughes was on her way down to the main hall before long. What she saw when she entered brought a smile to her face; everything was beautiful, almost sparkling, and everyone she saw among the gathering crowd was smiling. The musicians were tuning up; the dancing would certainly begin soon. The refreshments looked delicious, but she would wait until later to partake.

"Everything is just as it should be," came Mr. Carson's voice, as he appeared at her elbow. "Very well done, Mrs. Hughes."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. It's well done of you as well. I haven't done it all myself. Everyone pulled together quite nicely."

The musicians and the conversation quieted, and they saw Lord Grantham approaching. "That is my cue, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson said, excusing himself and crossing the room to Lady Grantham.

"Mrs. Hughes, may I have the pleasure?" Lord Grantham asked with a friendly smile, offering her his hand. She took it and he led her to the floor where they were joined by other dancers. The music began and couples whirled about the room. The earl was an excellent partner, for he was a good dancer and made charming conversation. Mrs. Hughes thoroughly enjoyed these few minutes of complete escape from her work. When the dance was over she would be just the housekeeper once again. The Servants' Ball was meant to be a sort of holiday for the staff, but since _someone_ had to make sure things were running smoothly, she and Mr. Carson usually found themselves in their usual places, standing side-by-side at the edge of the room watching over everything and everyone. She didn't mind, though. In some ways it was an evening of work like any other, but if her biggest complaint in life was that one night a year she was allowed a waltz and a cup of punch while she worked, she really hadn't anything to complain about at all.

A few minutes after the opening set, she found herself standing on the edge of the room with that cup of punch in her hand, though Mr. Carson wasn't beside her yet. Gentlemen were in more demand as dance partners tonight than they had been before the war, but it would not be the first Servants' Ball at which Mrs. Hughes was sought by the earl for the first dance and then left to herself. She smiled when she caught sight of Mr. Carson dancing again, this time with Mrs. Crawley. She was glad to see him enjoying himself.

He'd been the cause of some of her heartaches and joys in recent years. On three occasions he might have left her alone at Downton, but he was still here, for which she was thankful. Oh, perhaps he hadn't been near death when he had collapsed in the dining room that night, but it was near enough to make Mrs. Hughes think about what life would be like without him. She'd heard the commotion from the servery when he had spilled something on Lady Edith, had rushed to the dining room doorway and seen how flushed he was and that he couldn't seem to speak or move. Her hands reached out, on their own initiative, to loosen his collar, but she was on the other side of the room. Lord Grantham had thankfully known what he needed and quickly freed him from that restraint so he could breathe more freely. And then he'd been borne out of the room and left in Lady Sybil's care until Dr. Clarkson arrived. Mrs. Hughes had taken charge in the dining room and was left in the dark until after dinner, when she'd been called out of the drawing room to speak with the doctor. It wasn't a heart attack, but she had been right to worry about him working too hard. Later he'd caught the Spanish flu that had almost carried off Lady Grantham, and that _had_ carried off poor Miss Swire, but he'd gotten over that as well.

When he'd almost left Downton to accept Sir Richard Carlisle's, or really Lady Mary's, offer of employment at Haxby Park she'd been forced to examine her own feelings. When he had told her of Sir Richard's offer, and then after he'd made the decision to accept it, she had tried to imagine what Downton Abbey would be like without him, tried to envision some other butler, tried to think what his pantry might look like with someone else in it. As hard as she had tried, though, she could never conjure up any images; she had only felt an overwhelming emptiness that made her very tired. She had attempted a few times to talk him out of leaving, but mostly she had simply endeavored not to think about it at all. He wouldn't leave Downton any sooner than was necessary, and Lady Mary hadn't even set a wedding date, so it was still possible that something would happen to change his plans. She had mostly succeeded in putting her melancholy thoughts aside when something _did_ happen. She was sitting with him in his pantry when Anna came looking for her with news of Sir Richard's attempt at bribery, so she was with him when he made the decision, was the first to know that he would not be leaving Downton after all. She'd calmly wished him a good night a few minutes later, but before she'd reached her bedroom, tears of relief had started rolling down her cheeks. When she was alone in her room, the tears had continued to fall and she wept in earnest. She had not attempted to check her tears, but had simply gone about the business of getting ready for bed. The next day, however, she had to examine those tears, and what they meant. She was afraid to say the word, even to herself, even to deny that it was there. Her heart knew the truth, but her mind was afraid of what might happen if that one little word were ever spoken between them, so she kept silent. She would take what she was given, but she would not ask for more.

She was so occupied with these thoughts that she was a little startled when Mr. Crawley appeared at her side and asked her to dance, but she accepted his hand without hesitation.

"Everything looks wonderful, Mrs. Hughes," he said with a smile, as they crossed the floor. "Well done!"

"Thank you, Mr. Crawley. Everyone has worked hard today."

He laughed. "Perhaps you won't take the credit, but I suspect that no one has worked harder today than you have." Mrs. Hughes was silent, not quite sure how to respond. "Mrs. Crawley told me that you rarely dance after your opening set with Lord Grantham."

"Did she?" She smiled in understanding. "And being an obedient son, you knew what to do."

Mr. Crawley looked a little sheepish. "Perhaps," he admitted. "But I'm glad I was obedient. You're a marvelous dancer, Mrs. Hughes. I should have asked you sooner!"

"Hold your compliments until the dance is over, Mr. Crawley," she said. "I haven't yet stepped on your toes, but that doesn't mean I won't." She knew she wouldn't, but she couldn't think of another way to answer him. She wasn't used to such praise.

#####

It was another hour before they came together again. She never had to look for him. Somehow they always found one another in a crowd. She was watching Thomas, always a favorite at the Servants' Ball with the upstairs ladies, dance with Lady Rosamund when Mr. Carson appeared at her elbow once again, this time with two glasses of wine.

"I chose a very fine Merlot for tonight," he said, putting one of the glasses into her hand. "I hope you like it."

"I'm sure every Merlot in the cellar is very fine, Mr. Carson," she answered. "I know it will be delicious, because you chose it."

His chest puffed out a little at this compliment, but he waved it away. "This one is special, though," he said. "The occasion called for one of our best. There's a great deal to celebrate, don't you think?"

"Certainly. A great deal." They sipped together in silence for a while, both deep in their separate thoughts.

"You look very nice this evening, Mrs. Hughes," he said at last. "Your hair is different. It suits you."

"Thank you. You look quite smart yourself, Mr. Carson," she answered.

"Though much the same as usual," he said, recalling their earlier conversation. "Aside of the cuff links, naturally."

"Naturally," she said, her lips quirking.

"Perhaps you should wear that feather in your hair every day," he said teasingly.

She rolled her eyes. "And perhaps you should wear a pink waistcoat when you're serving dinner."

His rumbling chuckle filled her ears. "Perhaps."

"I remember my first Servants' Ball as housekeeper here. It seems an age ago, but it's still fresh in my mind. I was so terribly nervous."

"Nervous?" He was puzzled. "What about?"

"Why, the dance with Lord Grantham, of course! I feared I would tread on his toes while the whole staff watched."

Mr. Carson scoffed lightly. "Little chance of that! You've always been a superb dancer."

"Maybe," she said, with a little shrug. "But I was so apprehensive I asked Mr. Watson to practice with me."

"Mr. Watson! He was no dancer. Why didn't you ask _me_?" he asked, almost indignant.

Mrs. Hughes looked up at Mr. Carson, surprised at his reaction. "I don't know," she answered honestly. She looked into his eyes curiously, trying to understand him. For the first time she wondered what he felt for her, and had to quickly push that little word from her mind again. No, what they felt for one another could be better described with a bigger word: friendship. And theirs was a close friendship; she wasn't even afraid to admit to_ that_. She knew how lucky she was. She never had to worry that the butler was scheming to undermine her, as she knew some housekeepers did. The thought of Mr. Carson doing such a thing was quite absurd, in fact. However much they might argue, they were a team and worked toward the same goals: the smooth running of Downton Abbey and care for its inhabitants, upstairs and downstairs. That one little word had no place in their lives and work.

After a few seconds he cleared his throat and looked away. "Well, you carried it off splendidly, if I recall correctly."

"I think I did," she admitted. "His lordship set me quite at ease and that was the last time I felt nervous about that opening dance."

"And you may now add the_ future_ Earl of Grantham to your list of illustrious dance partners," Mr. Carson commented.

"It was very kind of Mr. Crawley to ask me to dance," she answered. "It was also very kind of you to suggest to Mrs. Crawley that she instruct him to do it."

Mr. Carson sputtered. "I never...I didn't-"

"Of course you didn't use those words," she interrupted smoothly. "You simply told her that I don't usually dance beyond the first set, because no one asks me. Which is nothing more than the truth. Mrs. Crawley knew what to do from there."

"Mrs. Hughes, I didn't mean-"

"Calm down, Mr. Carson," she said with a slight smile. "I'm not angry. I love to dance, but I don't often have the chance. Thank you."

He relaxed. "You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed it. It seemed a shame for you to miss out on the dancing. Gentlemen are scarce tonight, but you deserve a bit of fun."

"Why didn't_ you_ ask me?" The words, echoing his own earlier ones, were out of her mouth before Mrs. Hughes could stop them. She wasn't sure what had gotten into her.

Mr. Carson was taken by surprise as well and turned abruptly to look at her, his eyes searching her face. After a moment's pause, he said softly, "I don't know."

She tried to break the tension by making light of the exchange. "I was only teasing you, Mr. Carson," she said, turning back to watch the dancing. "You needn't look so serious."

He took her cue and looked back towards the floor. "Yes, you _have_ always enjoyed poking fun at me, Mrs. Hughes," he replied.

"It's an important part of my duties as housekeeper to keep the butler from becoming too high and mighty."

He smiled goodnaturedly at her teasing. "I suppose he does need that from time to time. And I think I'd rather be put in my place by you than just about anyone."

She bit her lip. "You mean you don't fancy being shut in your pantry with Miss O'Brien giving you a piece of her mind?"

"That's exactly what I mean, Mrs. Hughes," he said, his lips quirking. "I don't fancy being shut in my pantry with Miss O'Brien under_ any_ circumstances, come to that."

"Even if she spoke pleasantly to you, it would be rather frightening, wouldn't it?"

"Certainly. I'd be constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop!"

They both chuckled at the absurd idea of Sarah O'Brien speaking pleasantly to any of the staff.

"I think we can count the evening a success, though, Mr. Carson. I believe I saw Miss O'Brien smile a little while ago. But I suppose I ought not continue mocking one of my own staff."

"Perhaps," he answered noncommittally. "But it_ has_ been a lovely evening. You've worked harder than anyone today, Mrs. Hughes, and I won't hear any argument on that point."

"Very well, I won't argue, just this once. I agree that everything has been lovely. It's magical evenings like this when I look at my own life and feel it's not quite real."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Only think, Mr. Carson; I was born on a small farm to a Scotsman, and now once a year I dance the opening set of a holiday ball with the Earl of Grantham! If anyone had told me when I was young what I had in store, I would have thought them quite mad and had a hearty laugh. And yet here I am."

Mr. Carson smiled. "Yes, here you are. And I'm glad of it."

"Yes." She smiled back at her friend. "I'm glad, too."

**The End.**


End file.
